Chapter 5 - The Fall of Preston Beaumont
Preston, fueled by wine and sheer arrogance, refused to accept what his eyes and ears were telling him. He lunged across the broken table, grabbing an empty heavy crystal champagne decanter by the neck.
"He's bluffing!" Preston screamed, his eyes bloodshot. "He's an old grease monkey! He’s nothing!"
Preston charged directly at Marcus, raising the heavy crystal bottle to smash it against his skull.
Marcus didn't flinch. He didn't even widen his stance.
As Preston swung, Marcus stepped inside the arc of the blow with the smooth, terrifying efficiency of an apex predator. His left hand snaked out, catching Preston’s wrist and twisting it outward until the bone popped loudly from the joint. The crystal bottle shattered against the marble floor.
Before Preston could even register the pain and scream, Marcus drove an open palm directly into the young man's solar plexus, followed by a sweeping hook that caught Preston’s chin.
Preston hit the ground like a sack of wet concrete, skidding across the slick stone until his head collided with the brass podium. He groaned, curling into the fetal position, clutching his shattered wrist and gasping desperately for air.
"Preston!" Julian shrieked, running forward. But he stopped abruptly when Marcus took a single step toward him.
"You raised a predator, Julian," Marcus said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "A coward who preys on women because he thinks daddy’s balance sheet makes him bulletproof."
Marcus turned his head slowly to Sheriff Pike.
"Pike," Marcus commanded. "Drop your belt."
Pike was sweating profusely. His eyes darted toward the exit doors, which remained sealed shut under military-grade electronic deadbolts. He looked at the guests who had witnessed everything. He knew the cover-up was dead.
"Marcus... listen to me," Pike pleaded, his hands held up surrender-style. "I didn't know about the patent. I thought it was just a domestic dispute between kids. Julian told me—"
"I said drop the belt, Tom."
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Pike unclipped his duty belt with trembling fingers. The leather holster, handcuffs, spare magazines, and Glock clattered heavily to the floor. Pike kicked it away and raised his hands above his head.
"Good boy," Marcus murmured. "Now step against that wall and don't breathe too loud."
